


Untitled (Sol)

by traveller



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-10
Updated: 2005-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>The cold was the sort that seeped in slowly, taking up residence in your hips and ankles and the pit of your stomach until you realised you were shaking with it, your fingers burning with it.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled (Sol)

They'd stood out on the pavement staring up at a sky carved of bone, until the first sharp flake hit Remus in the eye, and when he blinked, Sirius couldn't tell if it was a tear or melting snow slipping down his cheek. The cold was the sort that seeped in slowly, taking up residence in your hips and ankles and the pit of your stomach until you realised you were shaking with it, your fingers burning with it. The sort of cold that made you feel alive by simple virtue of the fact that you knew you were infinitesimally freezing to death.

Remus tugged on his sleeve, blinking away more snowflakes. They clung to his lashes, to the high ridges of his cheekbones. Sirius reached up, brushed them away with his thumbs.

"We should go in," Remus said, sensibility in his words but something far warmer in his tone. Sirius nodded. Everything he wanted to say was frozen on the back of his tongue, waiting for a thaw.

::

They laze in the bath until their fingers and toes wrinkle, until their skins are dappled red with blood and heat. The house is groaning distantly, grumbling under its breath about falling stars.

Sirius spreads Remus out on top of the coverlet, still wet and warm, laps at the droplets pooling in the hollow at the base of his spine. He hears Remus inhale, feels the tension coil in the muscles under his hands, and Sirius' lips form words there against the skin, a soundless spell. Remus sighs, shifts against the velvet. Sirius kisses lower, his eyes drifting closed.

Remus whines at the first touch, and wriggles; Sirius encourages him with a glancing lick, a swirling stab, and the next sound is its own reward, choked off, broken, desperate. Sirius approves, he tastes deeper, adjusts his grip to hold Remus more firmly open. A parody of fucking, yes, yet one with no mockery in it; Sirius presses in and Remus rocks back into it, the howl rising now. He pulls back and Remus snarls; Sirius opens his eyes to see Remus' fingers clenched in black velvet, the long curve of his back shining with sweat. Sirius bows again to his work.

He remembers doing this on a summer afternoon, a lifetime ago, stretched out on a carpet in a sunbeam while Remus clawed and twisted and moaned like a bitch in heat. He remembers the taste of salt and man and magic, remembers how, for weeks after, all he had to do was flicker his tongue at Remus to bring him to his knees. Summer feels very far away, Sirius thinks, tracing an arcane pattern with his thumbs, and he wonders if he can conjure up the sun to give to Remus, something burning bright to set in the sky always, so they'll neither of them be cold again.

He speaks the spell there, directly to the flesh; Remus cries out his answer and for just a moment, for a breath, all is golden.


End file.
